It was a race to kill the beasts before they could be caught. Before her mother could steal their souls for magic. But when Glyn’s beloved father falls into the realm of the beasts, her only ally is the beast she has sworn to kill, the creature that could cement her mother’s reign of terror–the Creature of Three that betrayed her as a child.
I sat at the base of a tree, its roots creating a comfortable pocket for me to escape into. It had been an overwhelming day, but sitting in the silence of trees and grass, and staring up at a roofless sky that could absorb all my thoughts and pains, gave me the space to start . . .
To start outlining.
I pulled my notebook closer, and held my pencil lightly over the page. Technically, I had been outlining this book for four months, but every outline had somehow ended up overturned in a tangle of bushes, lost in a jungle far from the road of my hopes.
But today, I was surrounded by silence. And somehow, I could finally hear. My pencil drew a straight line, the beginning of a set of graphs. Today, I had heard the cry for simplicity.
With the kind of open patience that seems to come best between roots and skies, I drew out a simple arc for each main character, and for the magical world itself, each turning point stacked on top of each other. My hands began to tingle as each turning point began to describe the plot points, and as each facet of the story I longed to tell, suddenly and simply aligned.
I turned my eyes back towards the endless sky, and smiled in the silence. In twenty minutes of quiet, I had done what I could not do in four months of internal chatter. I held the notebook very still, as if the magic of simplicity had settled on its surface like a rare butterfly. One I did not wish to startle away.